


Room for Three

by astralgoddess09



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst and Feels, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Horny Teenagers, Jealousy, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralgoddess09/pseuds/astralgoddess09
Summary: In hindsight, you should have known that getting attached to Natsuya and Ikuya would be complicated, even messy. What you didn't anticipate, was how much your love for the both of them would slowly, torturously, fracture every part of you.(Or, in which you—an inexperienced participant caught in the middle of a complicated sibling dynamic—come to understand that some things have to break before you can properly fix them.)
Relationships: Kirishima Ikuya/Reader, Kirishima Natsuya/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this completely self-indulgent descent into madness. Please be aware that this story will span from high school to college (S3), so, if hormonal teenagers expressing themselves in all kinds of highly inappropriate ways isn't for you, you are more than welcome to back out now. For those who like their swim boy smut stories full of angst/feelings, I hope this story is the one for you.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, I've tweaked canon a bit—mostly the timing of certain events in the series and the progression (or regression) of Natsuya and Ikuya's relationship. In that spirit, I hope it's as fun for you to read as it is for me to write it.
> 
> Enjoy.

The first time you set foot in the Kirishima household, you know your fate is irrevocably sealed.

Despite Ikuya’s hesitant invitation, you still feel like an interloper as you step into the entryway of the Kirishimas’ cozy home, your tennis shoes hanging awkwardly from your index and middle fingers.

Heart hammering against your sternum, you follow Ikuya’s lead, pausing to place your shoes beside his, next to the step by the front door. He’s as quiet as he usually is in class, his movements on auto-pilot. When he turns to you after unbuttoning the high collar of your school’s uniform jacket, it takes everything in you not to bolt the way you’d come.

“Do you want a snack?” he offers, his long lashes sweeping across his cheeks, the simple action distracting you. “Or, maybe something to drink?”

You grow self-conscious under Ikuya’s curious look, your hand clutching at the strap of your messenger bag until your knuckles turn pale. “Uh, sure,” you say, lamely.

You’re eternally grateful when Ikuya turns on his heel, his sock-clad feet carrying him farther inside his house. Your eyes trace his lean shoulders as he veers to the right to pass through a _fusuma_. 

When the hardwood floor of their quaint dining and kitchen area greets you, it’s all you can do not to sink into one of the four, tidily arranged chairs at the wooden table and question your existence.

“Mawata-sensei told me on our last exam that I need to show my work,” Ikuya says, his voice soft, monotone. “He alsosaid the only way I’ll be able to catch my mistakes is if I write down _all_ the steps.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” you say, not entirely believing it yourself. “Whatever questions you have, I’ll try to answer them to the best of my ability.”

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble,” Ikuya says, his amber eyes flickering with a hint of shame. “Since you got 100% on that exam, I figured you were the best person to ask for help.”

You rest your bag on the table as Ikuya makes his way toward the kitchen. The light of the refrigerator illuminates his face as he peruses the selection with narrowed eyes. “Do you prefer juice or water?”

“Water’s fine.”

You tuck your skirt against your backside before you finally allow yourself to slide into one of the chairs. Behind you, the waning afternoon light slants across your back and continues, until it illuminates the _fusuma_ that leads back out into the main hallway.

Vaguely, you wonder who else Ikuya lives with. Is it the standard nuclear family—father, mother, one son? Or, maybe he has sisters—a tall, reserved, older one, or a short, outgoing younger one?

You continue to toy with the possibilities even as Ikuya returns to set a glass of filtered water and an individual packet of _senbei_ in front of you.

He takes a seat across the table, his fingers easily tearing open his own packet. “We can start anywhere you think we should.”

It isn’t long before your math textbooks and notebooks are set along the table, each equation that you write onto your graph paper one step closer to helping Ikuya understand which material gives him the most issues.

You’ve tutored other classmates before—some move lively, some more astute, and some who go through life with a lackadaisical indifference. Yet, Ikuya is in a division all his own. You can’t help _but_ study him as he bends his head over his notebook to scratch another step onto his paper with his mechanical pencil.

_He’s cute_ , you catch yourself thinking, the soft texture of his dark, teal hair tempting you as he lifts his head to engage with you. When he calls your name in that voice of his—the voice that he uses in class, seated directly behind you—it conjures the fleeting desire to press a tentative, questing kiss to his cheek.

It’s different being in his home, in his domain, where he doesn’t have to confine himself to classroom etiquette. He’s more intriguing in his natural element; even part way through your first year of high school, you know that this is the only chance you’ll ever be able to see the _real_ Ikuya, separate from his strange attachment to Toono Hiyori.

It’s already half-past six when you hear shuffling from upstairs, then the telltale sound of someone descending. Ikuya doesn’t even look up as another boy opens the _fusuma_ and enters, the layers of his brown hair framing warm, amber eyes and a cheery, confidently handsome face.

He stops halfway to the kitchen to pull out an earbud. Rock music blasts through the tiny speaker. “Hi there,” he greets, a charismatic smile tipping the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t know Ikuya was having someone over. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Natsuya, his older brother.”

“Hi,” you reply, a hand in the air. The size of him floors you; he’s taller than Ikuya, his body wider, his shoulders broader. You try not to reach for your half-empty glass of water as your tongue dislodges itself from the roof of your mouth. “I’m [Last Name, First Name], Ikuya-kun’s classmate.”

Ikuya’s brows furrow as his pencil scratches out another equation. “Didn't you have practice today?”

“Nah,” Natsuya answers. “Coach Watanabe gave us a break since the next couple of days are gonna be way more rigorous than usual. I gotta say, a small part of me isn’t looking forward to it, but practice is practice.”

It doesn’t take long for you to ascertain that Natsuya is a swimmer, just like Ikuya.

Whenever you’re roped into watching your school’s local competitions by a few of your female friends, you’re drawn to Ikuya’s singular presence in the water. More precise than Hiyori, he achieves his times with focus and near-unmatched grit. However, with each milestone he reaches and surpasses, his face remains the same whenever he climbs out of the pool, exhausted, heaving, and discontent.

“Maybe you should have gone with Serizawa-san, then.”

You bristle at the frostiness in Ikuya’s tone. In spite of the anger simmering beneath it, you’re impressed how easily Natsuya takes it in stride.

“I can’t be with Nao 24/7, just like you can’t be with Hiyori all the time. Friends need space sometimes, don’t they?”

You swallow hard as Ikuya finally lifts his head to glare at Natsuya. “You’re so _annoying_.”

Even with your limited knowledge of the complexities of siblinghood (you’re an only child, after all), you know that there’s something unspoken between them—a line one of them is too afraid to cross, and a gap one of them is too angry to fill.

You’re frightened by how much that thought pains you.

“Listen, Ikuya-kun, maybe I should just—”

“— _No_ ,” he cuts in as he turns back to you. “My brother was just leaving. Right?”

A shadowed look crosses Natsuya’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as you spot it. Your shoulders stiffen when he passes by you, one of his hands descending to your shoulder to give it a firm, slightly more than friendly pat.

“Right,” he echoes. “Sorry for interrupting.”

You trail Natsuya with your gaze as he slips into the kitchen. One glance at Ikuya tells you that he’s once again focused on studying, and another glance at Natsuya tells you that he’s especially good at chugging half a carton of orange juice until the last drop.

You involuntarily flush when he catches you watching him, the back of his hand running across the length of his mouth as his eyes narrow imperceptibly.

“ _Gross_ ,” Ikuya suddenly says, his nose scrunched up in a way that’s undeniably adorable despite his attitude. “Didn’t Mom tell you to _stop_ doing that?”

“Don’t worry,” Natsuya replies, his hand shaking the empty carton for emphasis. “It’s _all_ gone.”

You hide a smile behind your hand, and you’re glad that Ikuya is too concerned with scowling at his brother to see it. You're only mildly surprised when Natsuya catches it instead, his appraising eyes making your heartbeat surge and echo in your ears.

“So obnoxious,” Ikuya counters this time.

“ _She_ doesn’t seem to think so,” Natsuya throws out a bit too nonchalantly.

“That’s because she doesn’t _know_ any better,” Ikuya replies.

_Do you want to?_ Natsuya’s raised eyebrows seem to ask you as he nudges the fridge shut with his foot.

_Maybe_ , you respond, your own eyebrows arched in silent invitation.

Either Ikuya is blissfully unaware of your silent game, or he’s willfully ignoring it. Whatever the reason, you aren’t able to halt the way your thighs press together beneath the dining table, or how your fingers curl into your skin, leaving small, half-moon indents.

As Natsuya grabs a package of dried seaweed from a cupboard and makes his way back out into the hall with a boldness that intrigues you, you anticipate—with every fiber of your being—that you’re going to end up sleeping with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, thank you for reading. There will be much more to come. Stay tuned and take care of yourselves!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Throughout your life, you've generally been good at avoiding complications. Too bad this isn't one of those times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to be a chunk of one whole chapter, but I split them in two because it was just getting way too long for me. Hopefully, you'll be able to enjoy the calm right before the storm.

After months of tutoring Ikuya, you earn the privilege of learning more about Natsuya, too.

Through both idle and meaningful conversations, you’re given the knowledge that Natsuya is a third year student at Sofuukan, a powerhouse school known for its strong, competitive swimmers. You learn that his best friend’s name is Serizawa Nao—a calm, soothing boy who was forced to alter his dreams due to circumstances beyond his control. You find yourself visiting Sofuukan often after your own club activities have finished, or when you don’t accompany Ikuya and Hiyori for some downtime after their swimming practices.

You’re told that Natsuya used to be the captain of the Iwatobi Junior High’s swim club with Ikuya initially joining as a reluctant member, until the two eventually traveled abroad to continue their training. It’s also no surprise to you when Natsuya mentions that he’s the current captain of Sofuukan’s elite swim team, too.

You learn of Nanase Haruka, Tachibana Makoto, and Shiina Asahi—ex-friends that Ikuya resents for reasons still unknown to you, and enemies that Hiyori despises, though he rarely disparages them in Ikuya’s presence. You even become privy to Natsuya and Ikuya’s strained, distant relationship, and how much it troubles each of them, both separately and equally.

Most of all, you come to appreciate Natsuya and Ikuya—how different they are, how similar they can sometimes be, and how much you love being around them despite the bumps and hiccups you encounter.

You adore Ikuya’s pouty faces and Natsuya’s easy smiles. You savor Ikuya’s fleeting, hesitant touches, each rare moment of affection making your heart skitter and your stomach flutter. Natsuya’s bright laughter and unrestrained confidence leaves you breathless, and the way he carries himself—as if he fears little, or nothing at all—makes warmth bloom across your face and pool into your abdomen.

Before you realize it, spring has faded, and the sticky humidness of early summer brings a host of new challenges you aren’t sure you’re adequately prepared for. Nevertheless, you hope that you can continue to stay by Natsuya and Ikuya’s sides, even if it’s just for a little while longer.

You blink up at the light fixture on the ceiling of your living room, your arms and legs spread out on the floor at your back. Amid the banter of voices coming from the television, you listen to the hum of the fan as it rotates continuously to give you momentary reprieve.

“Sweetie,” you hear your mother call, her pleasant voice filtering above you. As you tilt your head to glance at the upside-down image of her, she continues, “I’m missing some ingredients for dinner, so I’m gonna make a run to the store in a bit. Did you want me to pick up anything for you?”

“A giant bucket of ice that never melts,” you say, your hand reaching up to wipe at the fresh layer of sweat on your forehead.

“Could that I would,” she chimes back with an apologetic smile. “The weather report said it’s supposed to get much cooler tonight, so that’s a relief.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you answer, unable to mask the hint of sarcasm in your voice. “I won’t be baking the whole night, at least.”

Thankfully, your mother has always been a good sport; her ability to accept even the worst of circumstances to embrace a better outcome is something that you both respect and admire.

“When you have some ginger pork in your belly, I can _guarantee_ that you’ll be too busy enjoying it to worry about the heat.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She disappears with a soft laugh, her footfalls growing faint until the TV finally drowns them out. You roll over as another minute passes, the thin cotton of your blouse and your denim shorts offering little relief.

You wonder if it’s appropriate to sleep until fall arrives, but the part of you that’s far too responsible for your own good scolds you for thinking such a silly thought.

After a beat, the trill of the doorbell echoes out, its familiar tune spurring you to sit upright.

“I’ll get it!” your mother calls.

You reach for the remote control on the low, wooden table in front of you to turn down the volume on the TV. After the click of the front door opening, a male voice penetrates your ears, the pitch of it somehow both recognizable and foreign.

It isn’t until you hear your mother respond in her native language of English that you’re finally able to determine who it is.

Your hands scramble for purchase on the floor as you crawl toward the hallway. As you peek your head out, you spot Natsuya, the bag he’s offering to your mother filled with plastic containers of prepared fruit.

“Your English has improved so much,” your mother compliments as you shuffle back into the den. “Don’t tell me you’ve been practicing _just_ to impress me?”

In that moment, you realize that you _also_ admire your mother’s confidence, almost as much as you envy it.

“ _Of course_ ,” Natsuya replies, all charm and no shame. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

You hear your mother’s laughter again, bright and airy. “Well, don’t just stand there, come on in! I appreciate you bringing all this for us. I’ll be sure to give your mom a call later to thank her.”

When she reappears in the living room with Natsuya hovering behind her, it’s all you can do not to make yourself completely scarce under the table.

“Look who showed up,” she says, her smile wide and vibrant. “Now you won’t be so lonely when I leave.”

You glare at her, and although your skin prickles slightly in embarrassment at Natsuya’s raised brows, you manage a soft, _“ha ha”_ in response.

As your mother leaves to put the remaining containers of fruit in the fridge, Natsuya approaches you to set one down on the table directly in front of you.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice washing over you in that scandalous way that makes your whole body sing, “hope you haven’t missed me _too_ much.”

“I only saw you the other day,” you reply, your eyes following him as he lowers himself to the floor.

Despite the number of times he’s visited your house in the last string of months, you always seem to forget how _big_ he actually is, and how much space he takes up with his presence, even in the relatively spacious area.

You try not to stare as you notice the rolled-up sleeves of his t-shirt, the sight of his defined biceps making you wish for a tall, freezing glass of water. Even then, you highly suspect that it wouldn’t be enough to alleviate the parched dryness in your mouth.

“Oh, you know me,” he says over the haze of your jumbled thoughts, “separation issues and all that.”

Mechanically, you reach for the container of fruit in order to give yourself something to do. The _pop_ of the top coming off seems to echo in your ears. “Have you always been _this_ good at lying?”

You know it isn’t your imagination when you feel the warmth of Natsuya’s gaze settle on you, the sight of it far more suffocating than the heat that surrounds you. 

“I wasn’t aware I was being judged so harshly. Next time, I’ll be sure to put on a better performance.”

There’s absolutely _no_ mistaking the flirty tone lurking beneath his words; it’s a game he’s played with you before, in ways that have become much more overt as the time you’ve known him continues to stretch on. 

Slowly, you’ve come to realize that it’s not only a game you don’t mind, but also one that you look forward to, each instance of it igniting your pulse to a fever pitch that you’ve somehow grown addicted to.

“Well, it’s not like I was keeping score,” you finally answer, your hand reaching into the container to grab a sliced piece of bright, red strawberry.

As the fan spins toward the both of you on its established route, you watch the way it tousles Natsuya’s hair. “That’s funny,” he says as he reaches over to slide the container away from you. “‘Cause I’m _pretty_ sure that you were.”

You’re left with the fruit he’s allowed you to keep, and as you make a fake, concentrated effort to inspect it, Natsuya shifts, his long legs stretching out until his feet are almost a breadth away from your personal bubble.

“Where’s Ikuya-kun?” you ask, trying to maintain your composure in the chaos of your internal struggle. “Did he not want to stop by?”

“Of course he wanted to, but he’s got his schedule to keep. Sundays are for catching up on studying.”

“Diligent as usual,” you say with a small smile. “Too bad his big brother doesn’t have the same work ethic.”

The mock-frown Natsuya directs at you is cute—almost irritatingly so. “I _am_ diligent,” he argues. “How could I be a captain if I wasn’t?”

“I meant diligent in things _besides_ swimming,” you reply, your smile growing wider. “From what Nao-san told me, it sounds like you’ve been super distracted lately.”

This time, Natsuya’s frown _is_ genuine. “That so? Did he happen to tell you anything else?”

“That you’re worried about Ikuya-kun.”

You take the opportunity to eat your slice of strawberry as Natsuya rakes his fingers through his hair. The familiar action never fails to make your heart skip a beat, even if the circumstances aren’t always ideal.

“Geez, am I _that_ obvious?”

“Sometimes,” you reply, your tone light and good-natured, “but honest, straightforward people usually tend to be. It’s not a bad thing, really.”

Natsuya smirks at that. “Oh, yeah? I’ll be sure to remember that tidbit of wisdom for the future.”

“If you’re worried about Ikuya-kun, you should just talk to him,” you say, your hand reaching for the container once more. “It’d make things a _lot_ easier.”

Your stomach does a hard somersault when Natsuya intercepts you, his sinfully long fingers curling around your wrist. “Speaking of honesty,” he replies, his voice dipping incrementally lower, its huskiness catching you completely off guard. “ _Maybe_ you should take that approach with your feelings, too.”

A part of you wants to play dumb, to will away those exact feelings lurking in the depths of your heart, too fragile for you to hold, or to shape into something solid, tangible. Ever since you met Natsuya that day, you’ve been walking a delicate tightrope, balancing the affection you have for Ikuya, and the attraction you have toward Natsuya. To lean to one side—to commit to it—is an idea that you’ve mulled over, constantly.

_There’s too much on the line_ , you’d tell yourself as you lay in bed each night, the screen of your phone illuminating your face as you switch between the separate chat logs you share with each of them.

For every rare moment Ikuya opens the intricate door sealed tight around his heart to you and only you, you try to leave a small piece of yourself, hoping that your attempts to emulate his quiet love language are sufficient enough to convey how precious he is to you.

It’s hard _not_ to compare how different it is from the type Natsuya frequently practices, his sure, steady touches and the confident way he brushes against you coming at you louder and clearer than Ikuya’s brand of intimacy, like a station on a perfectly tuned radio.

The part of you that anticipates Ikuya’s furtive glances and soft, adorable smiles hums to you, light and brimming with warmth. Yet, the part of you that craves Natsuya’s hungry looks and his bold, effortless charm never fails to call out to him, sometimes in ways that you don’t even realize until it’s far too late.

When you finally return to the present, your tongue darts out to wet your lips. The involved way Natsuya follows the simple, unconscious gesture constricts the coil in your belly until it’s on the verge of snapping.

“Do you just like teasing me, or do you not have anything better to do?” you bring yourself to murmur.

“What can I say?” he replies, his lips tilted in a faint, inviting smile. “Cute people make such easy targets.”

You bristle as his grip on you tightens a fraction, the slow, deliberate sweep of his thumb across your skin reaching into you, into the place you try to keep hidden. Although his eyes are partially obscured by the tumble of his hair, it doesn’t prevent you from noticing just how dark they’ve become, and how deeply they are intent on devouring each and every inch of you.

At the wild jackhammering of your heart, you hear your mother’s footsteps growing louder, closer.

When Natsuya releases you to pull away, you attempt to reorient yourself, the shapes, colors, and objects in the room gradually easing back into focus. In the next second, your mother’s head pokes inside, the genial smile on her face confirming (thankfully) that she saw none of his shameless display.

“I’ll be back soon,” she announces with a short wave. “Will you be staying for dinner, Natsuya-kun?”

“You bet,” he says. “I’d _hate_ to miss out on your delicious cooking.”

“Such a charmer,” your mother says, and it takes everything in you not to reach over and punch him squarely in the arm.

You’re painfully aware of every part of your body as she leaves, the sound of the front door swinging shut behind her echoing out in the hall. Sweat gathers at your nape, and you vaguely wonder if it’s actually from the heat, or from sharing the same space as Natsuya without your mother to act as a potential buffer.

He leans back, his hands braced against the floor as he turns to you with a look that succeeds in fraying what’s left of your resolve.

“So,” he says, the word hanging in the air for what seems like the longest second in your life, “what do you wanna do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, take care of yourselves!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Submerging yourself isn't really so bad. You just have to make sure you come up for air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to personal reasons, this chapter took a lot longer to finish/upload than I intended. Hopefully, it was worth the wait!

An hour later, you find yourself scowling at the flashing cursor on the TV in your room, the sight of it mocking you and your injured pride.

“I thought you said you were _bad_ at this game,” you remark as the character Natsuya selected finishes their winning pose for the fifth time in a row.

You can practically _hear_ his smile without even looking at him. “I never said I was bad at it. I just said that I wasn’t _good_. There’s a big distinction.”

_There really_ is _no justice in the world,_ you think, your fingers locked around your controller in a death grip. You glance at his reflection in the full-length mirror attached to your closet, the confident grin plastered to his face making your blood boil.

It was bad enough that he’d summarily beaten you at one of your best fighting games. Despite all the hours of practice you’d put in during your free time, none of it had mattered in the face of Natsuya’s efforts.

On top of that, in a more humiliating turn of events, you suddenly come to the sinking realization that you’re now at his absolute mercy.

“How about a few more rounds?” you offer as Natsuya sets his controller down in front of him. “I just needed some warm up matches to get into my groove.”

“Uh-uh, that wasn’t part of the deal. Five is what we agreed to—no more, no less.”

The air of finality in his tone skitters across your newly heightened senses, the sound of his voice strong enough to electrify your rapidly deteriorating nerves.

Through the fog of your addled brain, you hear Natsuya move behind you; in the mirror, you watch him scoot backward, toward the raised edge of your bed. After he settles against it, he spreads his legs out in a way that’s _far_ too provocative for you to take in.

Faintly, you wonder if it’s possible to melt into the floor beneath you, or to wish yourself out of existence.

You swallow around the lump lodged in your throat as he meets your gaze, reflected back at him. The look he gives you quickens your pulse, the quiet promise behind it causing liquid heat to pool into your center.

He calls your name in that low, captivating way that has each of your limbs feeling like something close to jelly. You tuck your lower lip between your teeth as he has the _audacity_ to pat his lap in invitation.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he announces.

You set the controller down on the floor as slowly as humanly possible. By the way Natsuya’s smirk deepens at your expense, you know he’s onto you.

“You’re not _stalling_ , are you?”

“ _No_ ,” you answer a little too quickly. “A bet’s a bet. There’s no point in me backing out of it now.”

You gather what’s left of your dignity, the hum of the fan at the far end of the room not nearly loud enough to drown out the thunderous roaring in your ears. As you carefully rise to your feet, you catch your flushed face in the mirror, the uncanny image of it mocking you.

The trek toward him is almost painfully short; as the length of your shadow looms over him, he tips his head to greet you with an expression that borders on feral.

“You’re loving every minute of this, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” he replies softly.

Natsuya extends his hands toward you, and as you reach out to take them, you consider how possible it is to combust from humiliation alone.

He’s gentle as he guides you toward him like a prince escorting his princess; when his hands slide to your hips, your brain tries not to short circuit at how _hot_ they feel over the barrier of your clothing.

You definitely don’t miss the sharp inhale that passes through his nose as you _finally_ lower yourself onto the warmth of his lap. The fabric of his jeans whispers across the backs of your thighs as he shifts to accommodate the feel of you straddling him.

“There,” he says, a strange, detectable edge in his tone. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

_That’s only half the battle_ , you fight the urge to say as the words dance precariously on the tip of your tongue.

Your ears burn hotter as you try to reassess the size of him in this new, foreign position. You struggle to comprehend how much _bigger_ he truly is in comparison to you, the wideness of his shoulders and frame both intimidating and deliriously tantalizing.

In spite of the obvious differences in your body sizes, you can’t help but realize how perfectly you fit against him, like the last, elusive piece of a puzzle you now only realize you’ve been missing.

“You okay?” you hear him ask, the soft rumble of his voice sending an unexpected shiver up your spine.

You try to reason with yourself that this isn’t the first boy you’ve ever been with like this, but the part of you that likes to drag you through self-inflicted misery reminds you that Natsuya isn’t just _any_ boy.

“Yeah, I’m _fine_.” You wince at the way your voice comes out—a touch too high, and a little too frazzled. “How about you?”

“ _Never_ better,” he answers.

You pause to brace your hands against his shoulders, a breath stuttering out of you as your palms meet the hard outline of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

The cacophony of your heartbeat is loud— _so_ loud that you wonder whether Natsuya can hear it. It isn’t until he lifts his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear that you realize how much you’re trembling.

“Hey,” he murmurs, the desperate, starved look in his eyes receding briefly as he searches your pained expression with a tenderness that seizes you. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. The _last_ thing I want to do is hurt you, or make you uncomfortable.”

Try as you might, you can’t keep the tremor from entering your voice. “Why would you say _that_?”

“Because,” he says, “that’s the exact face you make when Ikuya and I are in the same room with you.”

There’s not even a hint of malice or cruelty in his straightforward explanation. However, that doesn’t stop the guilt from seeping into you while your heart careens headlong into your stomach.

“ _No_ ,” you insist. Your fingers close around his shirt until your knuckles turn pale. “It’s _not_.”

His gaze softens at your furrowed brows, the smile that he graces you with filling up the hollow spaces buried deep inside of you. “ _Yes_ , it is.”

You have every intention to argue against him, but the words are sucked back into you the moment he shifts beneath you, the inappropriately delicious friction stealing a mangled gasp from your lungs.

“ _Hm,_ ” Natsuya hums, his large hands moving to grip your thighs. “At least your body is much more honest.”

“You’re such… a _stupid_ jerk,” you hiss out, the second, slight roll of his hips making you see a burst of stars.

His brazen smile retreats, and in its place, an uncharacteristically serious frown touches his face. Your apprehension returns, harsh and suffocating.

“Look, I know you care about my brother—probably more than I might ever want to admit, but I _also_ know that I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you in good conscience for much longer.”

You avert your eyes, the clarity in his stare too bright and too transparent for the sticky, oppressive uncertainty swirling within you. “…And what exactly am I supposed to do with _that_ information?”

“Make an educated choice.”

You want to point out that it’s unfair for him to ask anything of you when he has you trapped like this, but you fight through your instinctual desire for sarcasm. “What choice is that?”

His palm finds your cheek, the delicate brush of his thumb across your jaw making you ache and throb in absolutely all the wrong places. “If you’ve already made up your mind about Ikuya, then, as much as it’ll hurt for a while, I’ll leave you alone. _But_ , if there’s a chance for me— _any_ chance at all—then I want to spend as much time as I can showing you all the things I desperately want to do to you.”

A pathetic whimper slips out of you—soft, tortured, and shamefully needy. At the sound of it, Natsuya’s tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip.

_This_ is the out you’re looking for, you tell yourself. This is the way to preserve and protect what you’ve already built with the both of them, the foundation of your connection to Natsuya and Ikuya bolstered by your desire and need to watch over them and be by their sides.

Despite that knowledge, Natsuya’s kindness toward your indecisiveness tugs at the lone thread that’s been painstakingly unraveling inside of you since you first set your eyes on his illegally attractive face.

Somewhere, along the way, you’ve grown tired. Tired of skimming the surface of a pool you’re too afraid to submerge yourself into. Tired of denying yourself one of the things—one of the _people_ —you want the most, while nursing a sense of self-preservation that’s been torturously killing you from the inside out.

Ever patient and true to his word, Natsuya has kept his hands and body still as you sort through your feelings.

Somehow, your heart grows three sizes fuller.

You find yourself leaning forward, as though he’s a puppet master manipulating your taut, wound strings. His face is warm in your hands as you press them to his cheeks, and the spicy scent of cinnamon plays at the roof of your mouth as you slowly, carefully touch your lips to his and seal the second part of your foolish bet.

For half a second, you believe that you’ve made a mistake as he remains unfazed and unmoving. Your fears are quickly dispelled the moment one of his arms slides around your waist to pull you closer to him.

Natsuya’s first kiss is painfully tender, the feather-light sensation of his mouth on yours making you tipsy. After another, he begins to nip softly at your bottom lip, as if coaxing you into the idea of receiving him.

You moan against his mouth, both enjoying and hating how fragile he’s treating you, like a sheet of glass that’s just on the verge of shattering.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before your reaction spurs him to comb his fingers through your hair. At his first, testing tug on your locks, fire lashes your insides. He capitalizes on your surprise to press his tongue into your mouth in order to explore a deeper taste of you.

Your thighs tighten around him as wetness pools between your legs, the clench of your inner walls seeking a fullness you’re too proud to name. When Natsuya finally breaks away from you, his pupils are blown out, and the erection pressing into you tells you _exactly_ the effect you’re having on him.

“I guess bringing that fruit over _was_ a good call,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “Strawberries taste _much_ better when they’re in your mouth instead of mine.”

You thump an open palm into his chest with a defeated groan. “I _really_ can’t believe you.”

He closes the distance between the both of you once more as he plants a kiss against your jaw. “Yes, you can,” he replies, his teeth teasing your skin. His soft hair tickles your face, and you shiver as his tongue swipes tentatively against the sweaty column of your throat. “I also have it on good authority that you happen to like it when I’m _at least_ two steps ahead of you.”

The laugh caught inside of you rushes out in the form of a low, desperate moan as Natsuya’s hands push under the hem of your blouse to touch the bare skin of your abdomen. You drop your forehead into his shoulder as his blunt nails dimple your flesh.

“ _Natsuya_ ,” you breathe out in warning, your eyes scrunched shut. “If you keep doing that, I’ll—”

You don’t get to finish as the searing path of his hands lifts to massage the undersides of your breasts. His fingers play at the lace of your pink bra before he stops, pausing just shy of slipping his palms beneath it.

You’ve always hated how hypersensitive your body can be, or how occasionally, with minimal effort, you manage to soak through your panties. With Natsuya, you think you can begin to appreciate that weakness.

He murmurs your name, his voice floating somewhere above your consciousness, its deep, affectionate timbre sending a fresh rush of heat to your center. If possible, he sounds even more gone than you. “ _Please_ let me touch you. I’ll make you feel _so_ good, if you’ll let me.”

This is absolutely new territory, the small, functioning portion of your brain reminds you. You aren’t a prude by any stretch, but the few, fleeting boys you’ve dated in the past have never managed to get further than heavy, nervous petting over your clothing.

You swallow hard at Natsuya’s plea, and although you would never praise someone who performs the bare minimum of courtesy, you’re still touched by his restraint, and his thoughtfulness.

“Okay,” you whisper, your heart firmly lodged in your throat. “I trust you, Natsuya.”

As you lift your head to pull back, his mouth chases yours to plant a firm, worshipful kiss to your lips. He places a second, playful one on the tip of your nose before he tilts your chin to level his gaze with yours.

He’s _way_ too handsome for his own good. You want to swim in the amber depths of his eyes, the brightness you see in them rivaling even the morning sun.

“You have _no_ idea how happy that makes me.”

Heat rises to your face before it spreads to your ears and throat. He takes the chance to swoop in for another long, deep kiss; the groan that passes through him makes you tingle all over.

His mouth finds the shell of your ear, the warmth of his breath fanning along your left cheek. “This might sound like an odd request, but please bear with me: I want you to turn around.”

You blink in confusion, but it doesn’t take you long to do as you’re told by maneuvering yourself until your back is flush against his chest. Within the wide cage of his arms, you feel his hard-on more fully than before, the size of it making you shudder.

“All right,” you say thinly, your hands braced on his forearms for support, “what do I do now…?”

Natsuya’s hand captures your face, and it isn’t until he guides it toward the mirror across the room that your brain manages to fit the proper cogs into the machine.

You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of your reflections, the slow, deliberate smile that inches across his face as you meet his stare causing your thighs to press together in anticipation.

“Just relax,” he instructs softly, the near-predatory gleam in his eyes almost completely hidden by the fall of his hair. “I promise I’ll take _good_ care of you.”

You study yourself, your gaze raking across your disheveled hair, your flushed face, and your kiss-swollen lips. As Natsuya dips his head to suck on a tender patch of skin at your throat, your eyelids flutter while a hiss passes through your clenched teeth.

He’s like a furnace against you, the alternating suction of his mouth and the pinch of his teeth on your neck gradually stoking your own, internal flame.

You fight the urge to squirm as his hands dip under the hem of your blouse, the heat of his touch lifting higher until it reaches your bra again. This time, he doesn’t hesitate in bypassing it; when his palms meet your bare breasts, your body instinctively jolts into his.

Natsuya detaches his mouth from you to release a deep, husky laugh. The sound vibrates through you, making your face ten times redder than it already is.

He nuzzles your cheek as you let out a small, sharp breath. “ _Relax_ ,” he chastises lightly.

“I’m glad you think this is so _funny_ ,” you huff back.

“I’ve barely even touched you yet.”

Although you make a valiant attempt to avert your eyes, he steers your gaze back to him by giving your nipples a playful pinch. Your fingers dig into him at the immediate heat that rushes to your core.

His mouth returns to your neck, his teeth nipping at the same patch of skin as the pads of his index fingers brush across your nipples with a repeated languidness that makes your brain fog with dizziness. 

You can’t hold back the moans that spill out of you, each one spurring Natsuya on as his hands abandon your breasts to descend lower. The heels of his palms skim across your abdomen, and when he finally reaches the waistband of your denim shorts, you freeze.

“Tell me,” he whispers against your skin. The hickey he’s spent the better part of his time marking you with throbs. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

The words you want to say catch in your throat at the contrast of your reflections—steady, composed and in control, versus disheveled, shaky, and vulnerable.

You push past the erratic thump of your pulse to unfasten the button on your shorts. The sound of the zipper railing against the teeth screeches in your ears.

Taking your silent gesture as consent, one of his hands slips past your shorts and panties to touch you exactly where you want him most. In a matter of seconds, your lungs practically cease to function.

Natsuya’s deep groan fills the room as his fingers slide across your slick folds. The side of his face meets yours as a ragged breath passes through him. “I can’t _believe_ you’re this wet. Is that all because of me?”

Your head falls back into his chest when his middle finger parts you to sink deep inside. You don’t even recognize the tortured sound that stutters out of you.

“ _Natsuya_ ,” you cry out, your hips bucking as he begins a slow, purposeful rhythm.

You’ve masturbated before, but this is undoubtedly different; the feel of one finger is both too much and not nearly enough, and when he dips a second one to join it, your walls immediately clench around them.

“Just look at how cute you are right now.” A soft whimper escapes you as he curls his fingers deeper inside of you. “You’re such a _mess_.”

You wince at the thick stretch of his fingers, the back of your hand settling against your mouth as he works you over with a patience that’s as endearing as it is maddening. Before long, the slight discomfort manages to subside, giving way to a friction that has the space behind your eyelids flashing white.

Natsuya’s voice is there to guide you through it all, each soft, coaxing word of encouragement causing a fresh rush of wetness to seep around his fingers. At the sudden, light brush of his middle finger against your clit, a silent scream becomes ensnared in the back of your throat.

You clutch at his arms, your nails digging into his skin as he traces your clit again, the pinpoint, concentrated rhythm he sets stealing your ability to think.

He’s _far_ too good for this to be his first time doing something like this. With an adept curve of his fingers, you jerk forward as he hits that special, sensitive spot deep inside of you.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes out triumphantly. “ _There_?”

He withdraws his fingers only to plunge them back in, the sweep of them brushing across your swollen clit as he finds that special spot all over again.

“ _Please_ ,” you manage to croak out, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. “Natsuya, I _can’t_ —”

“Do you want to come?” he asks, his thoroughly amused tone resembling a master dangling a treat right in front of its desperate, begging pet.

Your blurry eyes meet his lidded ones in the mirror, your head tilting forward in what you can only hope he ascertains as a wordless, imploring nod.

Luckily, Natsuya decides to spare you any further humiliation. With a tender kiss to the back of your head, he keeps the pressure on your clit, each sure, powerful stroke of his long fingers in and around your center driving you higher and higher.

Your orgasm smacks into you like a battering ram, the force of it sending shuddering shockwaves all throughout your frame. Natsuya holds you steady, your inner walls fluttering and clenching around him with a tightness that leaves him panting heavily in your ear.

You feel boneless, weightless, and separate from yourself. By the time you’re able to open your eyes again, a faint, high ringing echoes in your brain.

A sound you can’t even name escapes you as Natsuya slowly removes his fingers. The strange, disorienting emptiness that’s left behind fills you with an emotion you aren’t yet willing to decipher.

He lifts his hand to inspect your wetness on his fingers; your soul almost vaults clear out of your body when he sucks them into his mouth.

“ _Mm_ ,” he hums as he drops his hand. “You really _do_ taste as good as you look.”

You place a shaky palm against your misty eyes as you release a deep exhale. “I really… _really_ hate you.”

His left arm circles snug around you, cocooning you against his chest. “Well, that’s a shame. Because I _definitely_ don’t hate you.”

You slowly lower your hand, the roaring crash of your heartbeat fading into a dull staccato in your ears.

You’re more sated and content than you’ve ever been before. The soothing kiss Natsuya presses to your cheek only manages to seal the deal.

Reality seeps back into your consciousness as the feel of his erection straining against your backside resurfaces. You try to chase Natsuya’s gaze in the mirror, the deep, adoring warmth you find shining in his eyes almost too much for you to handle.

You force yourself to swallow, grimacing at the rawness scraping at your throat. “I can… help you with that, if you want me to.”

For a full minute, silence greets your suggestion. In that long, excruciating moment, you wonder if he’s _actually_ heard you.

“It’s okay,” he finally replies, his voice strained but still attentively sweet. “There’s always next time.”

Your brain hangs on the _next time_ as if your life suddenly depends on it. The thought sends an anticipatory shiver up the length of your spine.

It takes a while for you to find the strength to button your shorts before Natsuya helps you to your feet. When you sink down onto the edge of your bed, you try not to think about how much you desperately need a shower to wash away all the sweat you’ve accumulated and the unholy mess between your legs.

The mattress dips with his weight as he sits down beside you, the wide smile on his stupidly handsome face letting you know just how _much_ he’s enjoyed turning you into the softest putty imaginable. “Y’know, a part of me is still wondering if you decided to lose to me on purpose.”

This time, you _do_ give yourself the satisfaction of lightly punching his arm. “I’ll have you know that I would _never_ stoop _that_ low.”

“That’s good,” he replies as he pulls you toward him. His nose finds your unkempt hair, and despite your initial instinct to pull away at how uncomfortable you’re currently feeling, you can appreciate Natsuya’s wish to be so near to you, even when you aren’t at your best. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You find yourself melting all over again at those words and the intoxicating way they wash over you, like fresh rain after a prolonged dry spell.

You almost hate it when the sound of the front door opening echoes upstairs and into the confines of your room. You _don’t_ hate it when Natsuya tilts your chin to plant another kiss to your lips, the fire lurking behind it searing you, all the way down to the tips of your toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for reading/commenting. It really does mean the world to me.


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